


Closed Circuit

by bluestar



Series: Pacific Rim AUs [1]
Category: Pacific Rim
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Gen, InFamous AU, game canonical violence, panic and anxiety attacks, warnings for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2574374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestar/pseuds/bluestar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galvanization of evolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

            “Don’t be mad at me.”

            Gottlieb staunchly ignored Newt, staring out the window. His expression was stony in the vague reflection, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Newt sighed guiltily beside him and tugged at his arm; Gottlieb drew away, almost pressing himself against the bus wall.

            “Hermann, c’mon.”

            “I am _not_ in the mood. Leave me alone.”

            “It was an accident. You can’t get mad at me about this, you’ve had slip-ups too.”

            For once Newt’s attempts at making amends after a fight were not wheedling or joking. His voice was low and strained, and Gottlieb knew he really was sorry for what he had done. But Gottlieb had had to be the one to get him out of trouble at great cost to them both. Forgiving Newt was not in his highest priorities at the moment.

            Newt seemed to read his thoughts, sitting back and crossing his arms awkwardly over his chest. The white noise of the bus engine filled the silence between them in a humming haze, punctuated occasionally with sharp rattles as the bus ran over bumps and divots in the road. Newt opened his mouth twice more to speak but thought better of it each time, looking around the bus and hunting for distraction. Gottlieb watched the sunlight fade and leave the highway in a grey-blue murk, other cars speeding past in a blur of headlights.

            “I know it was an accident,” he said eventually, voice barely above the humming. Newt glanced over at him. “That’s not the point. It was an _avoidable_ accident. I told you we couldn’t afford to be seen. You looked me right in the eye and told me you understood, but then you went ahead and got yourself spotted anyway.”

            “I was hungry,” Newt said. There was a faint catch in his voice, the slightest hint of the embarrassment and humiliation and misery he had been dealing with for two days. “I didn’t think-”

            “You never do,” Gottlieb said flatly. Newt flinched. “Do you realize how lucky we are to be on a bus rather than a D.U.P paddy wagon right now? Do you even _realize_ how close they got this time?”

            “I’m sorry,” Newt repeated. He blinked hard and looked away, hugging his arms tightly around himself. “I didn’t mean to.”

            “That’s not good enough.”

            Silence fell and Newt didn’t try to speak up again. The city was miles behind them but Gottlieb felt no sense of safety, looking out the window half for distraction’s sake and half to look for the flashing lights of a Department of Unified Protection APC chasing them down. Newt had cost them this city’s fragile safety, and they had used up the last of their emergency cash to buy passage out of it. Where and how they would get more he had no idea. They had had to steal more than once and the act left a bad taste in Gottlieb’s mouth each time. Newt was no prouder of it, though he had gotten very good at it.

            He focused on Newt’s vague reflection in the window for a moment. He was still hugging himself, looking away and down at the floor. He was unshaven, hair disheveled and clothes wrinkled, and his eyes were red-rimmed from tiredness behind smudged glasses. Gottlieb knew he looked no better, having stared dully at his own reflection for hours. The escape had been a taxing one and there had been no time to rest, and even now in the relative security of the bus they were both too anxious to sleep. Newt sniffed and blinked hard and Gottlieb realized with a faint jab of unreasonable guilt that maybe there was another reason Newt’s eyes were so red and glassy.

            Gottlieb finally turned back from the window. Newt glanced over and quickly dropped his gaze again, chastised and trying to shrink into the seat. Gottlieb reached over hesitantly, and then put his hand on Newt’s shoulder. Newt jumped at the contact, looking up at him.

            “It was an accident,” Gottlieb said quietly. Some of the poorly-hidden guilt and anxiety eased out of Newt’s expression at the unspoken forgiveness in Gottlieb’s tone, and he managed a small smile. “We’ll learn from it and move on.”

            Newt nodded slowly.

            “Okay.”

            “Alright,” Gottlieb said, withdrawing his hand and settling back to look out the window again. “Get some sleep. You look half-dead.”

            “Pot calling the kettle black, dude.”

            Gottlieb made a dismissive sound and Newt laughed a little; the tension still lingered, but it was fading by degrees. He watched out the window until he fell asleep and dreamed he was still looking at the passing scenery and cars, a cold knot in his chest as he waited for the wail of APC sirens. Newt shook him awake just before dawn and he sat up with a wince, rubbing at the crick in his neck.

            “What-?”

            “Just pulled into the station. C’mon dude, get up.”

            “Don’t call me that,” Gottlieb mumbled, grabbing Newt’s offered hand and letting himself be hoisted up. Newt had both their bags slung over his shoulders, handing Gottlieb his cane as he hobbled stiffly into the aisle. It was uncomfortably cold outside after the stuffiness of the bus and Gottlieb drew his parka around himself, trying not to shiver. Newt frequently joked they could use the oversized jacket as a tent in emergency situations, and Gottlieb admitted to himself he was glad for the blanketing effect of it as he flipped the too-large hood over his head.

            “There’s cameras everywhere,” Newt muttered beside him, scowling at the bus depot entrance. “How Big Brother can you get?”

            Gottlieb gave the security cameras trained on the doors and parking lot an uneasy look.

            “We’ll be flagged the minute they see us.”

            “Keep your hood up,” Newt said, dragging his own hood over his head and fixing it to sit low over his face. “It’s a cold morning. No one’ll question it.”

            “We should just walk.”

            “We’re in the middle of nowhere. And your leg-”

            “Do _not_ bring that up to support your argument,” Gottlieb snapped. Newt flinched, holding his hands up defensively.

            “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

            They stared at each other for a moment, and Gottlieb finally relented and looked away.

            “No. No, it’s…alright. I just…”

            “Forget it,” Newt said, cheerfulness only slightly forced. He pulled at Gottlieb’s arm and ducked his head down as they walked through the front doors, heading inside. The connecting bus wasn’t due for another half hour; Gottlieb found an isolated corner for them to sit, keeping the hood so low he was masked entirely.

            “Are you hungry?”

            “Yes,” Gottlieb admitted. “Last thing I had was…don’t even remember, actually.”

            “I can go get us something,” Newt said lightly. Gottlieb snorted, pulling the hood up slightly to give him a mild glare. “I promise I won’t screw it up this time.”

            “Oh, you mean you’ll _pay_ for the food rather than swipe an entire shelf into your bag?”

            “Shut up, I grabbed like five things at most. Not my fault the clerk was watching me the whole time.”

            “You’re not the master thief you think you are,” Gottlieb said. “I’d work on your approach. Actually _attempt_ for stealth.”

            “Dude, shut _up._ ”

            “Don’t call me that.”

            Whatever angry tension was left had dissolved completely, their natural state of bickering back to its usual pace. Gottlieb dug into an inner pocket of his parka and gave Newt a crumpled five dollar bill, shooing him away.

            “Go on. Buy _actual_ food with it, alright? Not just candy.”

            “Killjoy,” Newt said, adjusting his hood with slight nervousness before walking away. Gottlieb tried not to feel exposed and anxious to be left alone, holding on to his cane very tightly and staring down at the floor.

He wanted to be out of the depot, away from the scattered people milling around so freely beneath the cameras he was certain were watching him. His heart gave a nervous judder and a fine sheen of sweat beaded his face, trickling uncomfortably down his neck. Being in public and around people made him horribly nervous, which in turn made it very dangerous for people to be around him. He had nearly had an episode getting Newt away from the convenience store, fighting to keep himself under control and ignore the horrible welling sense of _power_ in his chest. He didn’t want to be powerful. Not like this. Not this affliction he carried that had _ruined_ him–

“You’re shaking.”

Gottlieb bit back a startled curse as Newt sat down next to him again; he pulled back his hood enough to see, giving Newt a dirty look.

“Don’t sneak up on me!”

“You told me to be stealthy!”

Gottlieb snatched the proffered sandwich out of Newt’s hand, grumbling. Newt grinned slightly and unwrapped the thick coating of plastic wrap on his own sandwich, giving it a cursory sniff.

“Seems safe enough. I mean, you really _shouldn’t_ eat shit like sandwiches and hotdogs you find in bus depots but…”

“We’ve had worse,” Gottlieb said dully. He ate without tasting the food, his hunger winning out over any sense of pickiness. “Not like it will make us sick.”

“Love that Conduit metabolism,” Newt said, voice hardly a whisper. Gottlieb still glared daggers at him for daring to say it, mouth twisting.

“Don’t you think you’ve painted enough bulls-eyes on us lately?” he snapped. “Don’t… _say_ that.”

Newt gave a noncommittal shrug that was neither argument nor apology, simply finishing off his own food. They sat in silence, watching the sun creep over the horizon and throw slanting shafts of sunlight through the tall windows. Newt watched the light spread, squinting against the glare off the brightly-waxed linoleum floors.

“Don’t,” Gottlieb said. Newt glanced at him sidelong.

“I wasn’t-”

“Don’t explain it to me. Don’t do anything at all.”

“I’m _tired_ , Hermann,” Newt said in an undertone. “I need it.”

“You sound like a drug addict.”

Newt was glaring at him but Gottlieb refused to acknowledge it, finishing off his sandwich and brushing the crumbs away from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Why do you have the constant need to tell me what to do? All it does is make me want to do the complete opposite.”

Gottlieb studied the pale gold sunlight pooling on the floor, mouth twisting into a grimace. Newt elbowed him and Gottlieb pushed back, annoyed.

“Because you have no foresight,” he said. “That’s why we had to run. _Again._ You don’t _think,_ Newton. You’re the most impractical, senseless intelligent person I’ve ever met. You have no common sense to balance you out.”

Newt was silent for a long moment and Gottlieb pulled his hood back slightly, frowning – Newt was smiling despite his lingering irritation, head tilted to one side as they regarded each other.

“You called me intelligent.”

“For heaven’s sake, Newton…”

“Ah, ah ah. Nope. I heard it. You slipped and said something _nice_ about me. Go on, do it again. Say I’m pretty too.”

Gottlieb made a spluttering sound and pulled his hood down, refusing to laugh. Newt elbowed him again gently and Gottlieb could _hear_ his shit-eating grin.

“C’mon, admit it. You wanna say more nice things. I can tell.”

“I will _smother_ you in your _sleep.”_

“Oh, Newt, I know you fucked up wrecking that convenience store but it’s _okay,_ I can’t stay angry at you when you look at me with those big hazel eyes-”

“Do you rehearse being this intolerable? Do you stand in front of a mirror and practice?”

“You like me,” Newt said easily, throwing a companionable arm around Gottlieb’s hunched shoulders and resting his head against the pillowing tent of the parka hood. “Just say it, dude. Your life would be barren without me.”

Gottlieb reached over and pushed Newt away, a hand planted on his face and driving him back. He was biting the inside of his cheek not to laugh but the faint spluttering sounds were still escaping anyway, making him sound vaguely like snake with a hiccuping hiss.

“I wish I’d never met you.”

“Pfft. Liar.”

“ _Attention: bus A-22 to Denver is now boarding. Departure time estimated 7:45 AM. Attention…”_

“Hey, that’s us,” Newt said. He stood and offered his hand; Gottlieb took it unthinkingly as always, letting Newt pull him up. He fished the tickets out of his pocket and studied them for a moment, sighing.

“Never been to Denver. Might be…”

“Nice?” Newt supplied. Gottlieb grunted.

“Tolerable.”

 

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to blairtrabbit for the title!
> 
> Alright, I'm just gonna level with you guys right now: this is _such a self-indulgent project I can make no excuses whatsoever._


	2. Chapter 2

 

                  “We’ve got a problem.”

                  Newt’s voice was strained; it was the tell he could never quite hide when he was stressed and anxious. Gottlieb didn’t even have to look up at him to know he would be worrying his bottom lip with his teeth or clenching and unclenching his hands in loose fists.

                  “What is it? We’ve only been here for an hour. We can’t possibly have run into trouble this quickly.”

                  “Dude, there’s DUPs _everywhere,”_ Newt hissed. Gottlieb’s insides froze and he finally looked up.

                  “What do you mean, everywhere? You mean patrols or-”            

                  “No. No! I’m talking scanner stations, suspicion pens, the whole nine yards! From what I could see the city’s _crawling_ with them.”

                  Gottlieb sat back, feeling the ice that had frozen his heart and settle in knots in his stomach slowly creep up his spine. Fleeing a relatively ignored city had brought them right into a hornet’s nest here. For a traitorous moment Gottlieb wanted to blame Newt – he was fully within his rights to and they both knew it – but there would be no use in it. Besides…he had already said he’d forgiven Newt the trip-up.

                  “We can’t afford another bus,” he muttered. Newt sat beside him on the bench and they looked aimlessly out into the bus depot’s parking lot; they had arrived a little over an hour ago and Newt had gone to explore a bit, leaving Gottlieb to sit and brood over their newest pit stop in a never-ending line of cities and towns. The anxiety of being left alone had been manageable in the face of wondering where on earth they would even be sleeping that night. The news of Denver’s occupation now resigned him to the thought of bridges and the stoops of abandoned buildings.

                  “We could hop a train,” Newt was saying. Gottlieb blinked, jarred from the dull grey resignation of his thoughts.

                  “A train?”

                  “Yeah. Find a train yard, scope out something going out of the state maybe. Did it before.”

                  “We did it _once._ And you remember as well as I do how terrible it was.”

                  Newt stared at the ground in dejection, wringing his hands nervously. Gottlieb didn’t have the energy to reassure him; he sat back and worried with the drawstrings of his parka’s hood, staring into empty space.

                  “Hermann?”

                  “Mm?”

                  Newt said nothing else, but Gottlieb could almost feel the unspoken apology he knew Newt was aching to repeat over and over. Gottlieb had told him on several increasingly irritable occasions that repeating apologies was annoying, especially when he was already forgiven.

                  “Are you hungry?” Gottlieb asked quietly, pushing through the growing cloud of tension and guilt. Instead of being distracted Newt only looked guiltier; his head hung and he hugged his arms around himself.

                  “No.”

                  Gottlieb felt a flicker of frustration, reaching over and grabbing Newt’s face by the chin. He gave a squawk of alarm and tried to pull back, but Gottlieb held him fast and studied his face. He scowled after a moment.

                  “You’ve done it again.”

                  “I was dead on my feet! I feel like shit if I don’t, I-”

                  “It is an _addiction,_ ” Gottlieb snapped. “You are feeding a _disease._ ”

                  “If I don’t charge up, _that_ makes me feel sick,” Newt said. He looked healthier and the tired glaze was gone from his eyes. Aside from needing to comb his hair and shave, he didn’t look at all as though he’d been traveling for the better part of a week.

                  “Did anyone see you?”

                  “No.”

                  “Are you sure?”

                  “Yes. Yes, I promise. I _promise_.”

                  Gottlieb let him go and looked away, futilely angry. Newt had long since stopped suggesting he “charge up” in his own way, and Gottlieb staunchly refused to. The absence left him with a lingering sense of tiredness and something almost like hunger, but like the other aches and pains of his body he had learned to tune it out.

                  “I’m sor-”

                  “If you apologize to me one more time I am going to walk away and leave you on this bench,” Gottlieb said flatly. Newt’s mouth snapped shut and he slouched down, the picture of abject misery. They sat there for a long time; the sun had swung high into the sky by the time Gottlieb had cooled down enough to speak without snapping.

                  “We can’t stay here.”

                  “There’s nowhere to go in the city. I told you, the DUPs set up shop on every corner.”

                  “They always miss a few spots,” Gottlieb said, standing up and wincing at the stiffness in his back and leg. He shouldered his bag, adjusted his coat and looked to the street milling with people across from the depot. “We just have to be _careful_.”

                  Newt didn’t miss the way Gottlieb stressed the word; he nodded slowly and followed after him. No one seemed interested in them but Gottlieb felt like every eye on the street was fixed in their direction. His mouth was dry and his breathing tremored slightly as he waited for someone to recognize what they were. Newt showed no outward signs of his recharging but Gottlieb was certain he was a walking beacon; one jostle against him and surely he’d erupt, they’d have to run all over again and Gottlieb was too damned _tired_ to run, on and on it never ended-

                  “Hermann?”

                  Newt’s hand was on his sleeve with his fingers knotted loosely in the fabric. Gottlieb took a deep breath and said nothing for a moment, then gently shrugged Newt’s hand off.

                  “I’m fine. Thank you.”

                  “No problem.”

                  Gottlieb slowed down and Newt jogged up to walk in stride with him. There was a brief stretch of silence broken only when Gottlieb glanced over at him sidelong.

                  “How can you always tell?”

                  Newt smiled casually, though there was little amusement in it.

                  “Grand chief and master of the panic attack, dude. I know ‘em when I see ‘em.”

                  They followed the flow of the crowd, simply twisting and turning on the sidewalks and going deeper into the city. Gottlieb supposed it was a bad idea to wander without any real sense of direction, but neither of them had ever been to Denver before; no good drawing attention to themselves as though they were tourists by asking directions.

                  “We should find someplace to sleep before nightfall,” he said to Newt eventually. “A church, maybe.”

                  “Ooh. Wanna claim sanctuary?”

                  Gottlieb snickered before he could stop himself, elbowing Newt.

                  “Shut up.”

                  “I’m serious! We can pretend we want jobs in the bell tower. Churches have an outcast _standard._ ”

                  “You’re absolutely deplorable.”

                  “Yep. Maybe a lifetime of penance in Our Lady of Destitute Professors will do me good.”

                  “You were never a professor,” Gottlieb said mildly. “One doctorate, five honorary degrees and a short stint at MIT before you blew up your lab.”

                  “Like you were any better, Mister Theoretical Physics.”

                  “I was on track to tenure.”

                  “You’re like, thirty- _four._ You were _not_ on track to tenure, shut up.”

                  “Is that a hint of jealousy I hear?” Newt snorted in response, pushing Gottlieb’s shoulder. Gottlieb turned with the push and whacked Newt’s shin with his cane.

                  “Ow! Jesus!”

                  “Careful now. You’ll have to stop taking his name in vain once we get settled in our lovely new bell tower.”

                  “I’m not sharing my tower with you. Go howl over the wickedness of men in your _own_ church.”

                  “I do not _howl,”_ Gottlieb said. “I _lament._ Distinct difference.”

                  “For all the good it does,” Newt murmured.

 

\--

 

                  Dinner that night was a bag of chips and two bottles of water filled from the sink in a public bathroom, eaten on the stoop of an apartment building. Gottlieb was weighing the options of dehydrating rather than drink a single drop but Newt had promised him several times the water was clean. They had divvied up the chips to ten each, and were trying very hard not to think about how there was nothing else for them to eat – and no money to get more.

                  “How’s the project coming?” Newt asked. Gottlieb smiled faintly, taking his notebook from his bag and passing it over. “Ooh, that good?”

                  “It’s coming together finally,” he said. “Had a lot of time to stare at it on the second bus ride. I think that the issue was that…see, this here?”

                  He pointed at a small series of numbers in the dense lines of calculations, looking proud. Newt turned the notebook sideways as though he was looking at a centerfold.

                  “Wow. That…that sure is a five in there. Damn.”

                  “Contain yourself,” Gottlieb said dryly. Newt snickered. “This is what salvaged the entire damned equation.”

                  “So what’s it for? Every time I ask you hedge about it.”

                  Gottlieb took the notebook back, curling the edge of one page between his fingers. He looked down and mumbled something; Newt leaned closer, cupping a hand around his ear.

                  “Sorry, what was that? What about Mars?”

                  “Well… _someone_ has to start the groundwork for the next rover, you know.”

                  Newt snorted, half in exasperation, half in approval. Gottlieb looked down at the battered little notebook with a rare smile, his look of pride lingering. It was the routine they had every day, holding on to some kind of normalcy; Newt would ask what Gottlieb had done for work that day, and Gottlieb would ask in return. Sometimes the discussions would go on for hours, or only a few clipped sentences. Sometimes the bitterness of having to scrape for bits and pieces of their old lives was overwhelming and they simply said nothing at all.

                  “What about you? Anything?”

                  “Nah,” Newt said, shrugging. “Hit a roadblock with it…maybe if we squat somewhere with WiFi I’ll be able to poke at it again.”

                  “Aren’t you writing a paper about the probability of animals evolving laser breath?”

                  Newt spluttered, shoving Gottlieb’s shoulder.

                  “Okay first off, it’s _atomic_ breath. And no, I am _not._ Good try with the Godzilla reference though. Proud of you.”

                  “I brushed up on my Toho trivia just for you.”

                  “Attaboy.”

                  The chips were gone far too quickly. Newt brushed his hands clean on his jeans and emptied his water bottle, nose wrinkling at the taste. Gottlieb stared at his own bottle and sighed, knocking the water back in two quick, disgusted gulps.

                  “Oh, quit it. Not like you’re gonna get sick.”

                  “You keep bringing that up as a bright spot but it never seems to help,” Gottlieb muttered. “You-”

                  He cut off, going silent and watching as an APC rolled down the street. Newt paled and shrunk back, eyes fixed on the auto-cannon that crowned the vehicle. The entire street was quieter as it passed by, the sparse evening traffic of pedestrians slowing or stopping entirely to watch it. Gottlieb could feel the vibration of it in his chest; his hands clutched tightly on his notebook, knuckles going white.

                  “They act as though we’re at war,” he said, so quietly he could hardly hear himself. “What is the point of it?”

                  “Hermann.”

                  “What is the _point_ of it? Can you imagine what the shells that thing uses could damage? Is it worth it? Truly?”

                  “Hermann!”

                  Newt was prying the notebook out of Gottlieb’s hands, brushing dust off it. Gottlieb blinked at it in incomprehension, then gave a startled cry and took it back, flipping through it. Some of the pages had gone powdery but for the most part it was unharmed.

                  “Thank you,” he said belatedly to Newt. “This…I poured a lot of hours into this work.”

                  “No problem,” Newt said. The powder lingered on Gottlieb’s hands and he wiped them on his pants, but it wouldn’t come off. He scowled and scratched at his hands.

                  “Damn it.”

                  “Dude, just-”

                  “Don’t _call_ me that. It…I just have to…”

                  “It’s not gonna come off,” Newt said, so gently it made Gottlieb want to hit him. “You’ve been starving yourself.”

                  Gottlieb made a bitterly frustrated sound, clenching his hands into tight fists and folding his arms over his chest. He stayed that way a long time and Newt made no further attempts to reassure him, though he did put an arm around Gottlieb’s shoulders. The sun was beginning to set and the air had gotten markedly cooler by the time he finally stirred. Newt didn’t remove his arm and didn’t remark on how Gottlieb leaned against him.

                  “Feel better?”

                  “No.”

                  “In _any_ way?”

                  There was a brief silence, and Gottlieb sighed.

                  “I’m not hungry anymore.”

                  Newt nodded slowly; Gottlieb pulled away from him and finally unfolded his arms, staring at his now-clean hands. He never discussed his affliction if he could help it. Of all the useless things in the world he would never understand why he had an affinity for _paper_ ; if he wasn’t careful he could reduce books to dust, absorbing it through his skin. _Any_ paper would do. Newspaper, card stock, it didn’t matter – it responded to him like it was part of him.

                  “Tired?”

                  Newt’s uncharacteristically gentle voice was galling him, but Gottlieb knew he wasn’t trying to be patronizing. Between the two of them Newt was the more adaptable one and didn’t seem to mind his condition at all. He certainly hated the circumstances it had _landed_ him in, of course – but the affliction itself didn’t bother him. There were times when Gottlieb was certain he _enjoyed_ it.

                  “I’m not,” he said belatedly. “I…I do feel better.”

                  He looked down at the notebook sitting in his lap, thumbing through the pages he had damaged. At least there was nothing particularly important written on them.

                  “Good,” Newt said. He stood and pulled Gottlieb up along with him, casting a look around. “We gotta keep moving in case they come back.”

                  “Where are we even going to go?”

                  “Around.”

                  “That’s vague.”

                  “Alright, pick a direction then. Left, right? Off-center?”

                  Gottlieb considered for a moment, then pointed resolutely to the left. Newt nodded and marched ahead as though he had purpose, head thrown back and taking wide strides.

                  “Onwards!”

                  Gottlieb sighed tolerantly, following close behind.

                  “Onwards.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

            The first week in Denver was a blur of wandering, hunger and exhaustion. Finding places to rest were the worst challenge; homeless shelters were out as they typically had security cameras, and Newt and Gottlieb took shelter where they could find it. They had made good on their halfhearted joke about churches, sneaking into the basement of an impressive brickwork cathedral on the fifth night to wait out a rainstorm. The basement was cold and dusty, but it was dry. Newt scouted out for any errant clergy wandering about before he gave Gottlieb the all clear, and they crept inside.

            “Breaking and entering into a church is a sin, right?”

            “I wouldn’t know,” Gottlieb said, wringing water from his parka hood. “I think there’s a loophole for the desperate and homeless.”

            Newt poked around aimlessly, looking into the stacked boxes full of hymn books and spare Bibles.

            “How many Bibles does one church need, d’you think? Do they have shortages?”

            Gottlieb grunted, busy looking for anything useful. There was no food or blankets though he hadn’t honestly expected to find them – he decided he was going to draw a line in stealing communion wafers and wine, at least. Newt wandered into an adjoining room, and a few minutes later there was a sharp curse and a crash. Gottlieb was instantly on the alert, hurrying into the room.

            “What happened?”

            Newt had found a sheet on another pile of boxes; he had pulled it off and the topmost box had fallen over, spilling candles all over the floor. He held up the sheet feebly and Gottlieb yanked it away from him with a disgusted sound.

            “Sor-”

            The apology died unspoken at the rebuking look Gottlieb gave him, and followed him back into the main room. Neither of them said a word as Gottlieb folded the sheet over to provide thin cushioning and spread it on the floor, and they sat down side by side. The rain was beginning to come down torrentially outside; there was a faint arrhythmic drip of water seeping into the basement, colliding softly against a metal pipe and on to the concrete floor.

            The only light was from a small, dirty window sitting a few inches down from the ceiling, the glass frosted. The world steadily grew darker outside and the basement was soon immersed in shadow. It felt even colder somehow; Gottlieb pulled his parka around him and tried not to shiver. Newt was still and quiet beside him, arms crossed and sitting hunched over.

            “Newton?” Gottlieb said eventually, his voice hushed. The slightly darker shadow that was Newt turned its head towards him.

            “You okay?”

            “Fine. Are you…?”

            “Fine.”

            There was a beat of tense silence, and then Gottlieb whispered again.

            “It’s…it’s a bit dark in here.”

            Newt said nothing, the tension edging a notch higher. The slightly stiff leather of his jacket creaked as he wrapped his arms a little tighter around himself.

            “Yep.”

            “It’s _dark_ ,” Gottlieb repeated. He reached out blindly, putting a hand on Newt’s shoulder briefly. “Could you fix that?”

            “We’ll get caught.”

            “Nobody here but us.”

            The silence fell and dragged on again; Gottlieb removed his hand awkwardly, looking away. There was a soft static hiss and he suddenly had to squint; Newt’s hands were cupped in front of him and light was welling like liquid in them. The initial bright flare dimmed to a glow only just bright enough to see by, but Newt was smiling as he looked at it.

            How Newt could absorb and retain light, Gottlieb wasn’t sure; he did know for certain that the potential for jokes about black holes was endless if he put his mind to it. The light held no warmth and could linger for hours or even days depending on how Newt wielded it, and there were times when his use of it had genuinely frightened Gottlieb. Newt was capable of causing incredible damage when he wanted to. Those times were, at least, mercifully far and in-between.

            “You’re showing off,” Gottlieb said. Newt grinned and it was the first honestly happy expression Gottlieb had seen from him in days.

            “Showing off would be fireworks. This is just practicality.”

            Gottlieb reached over and tried to touch the light; he felt nothing but an odd, faint vibration, so subtle it was hardly there at all. Newt leaned back, pouring the light from one hand to the other. It flowed like water though not a drop of it spilled to the floor.

            “I can think of a dozen different laws of physics this is violating,” Gottlieb said dryly. Newt laughed.

            “That’s half of why you hate it so much, isn’t it. Screws too badly with your perception.”

            Newt’s tone was joking, but Gottlieb’s own fragile amusement died. He looked at Newt with a deep frown.

            “I don’t hate it.”

            Newt’s grin faltered. He stopped playing with the light, his hands dropping down into his lap and letting it pool and settle again.

            “You do,” he said. “It’s okay. I wasn’t that thrilled about it for a while either.”

            “Have I ever told you I _hated_ it? Why would you think such a thing?”

            “Let’s not have this conversation,” Newt said evasively. He glanced over at Gottlieb; his pupils were glowing faintly, flashing in stark greens and blues like an animal’s reflecting in the dark. Gottlieb sat back and looked down uncomfortably, studying a crack in the floor. Newt’s attention shifted back to the light and he stared at it.

            “I don’t hate it,” Gottlieb repeated softly. “Please don’t think I’d feel that way.”

            “I _really_ don’t want to have this conversation, Hermann. Okay?”

            The light dimmed slightly. Gottlieb felt a twist of guilt in his chest, knotting his hands together in his lap and bowing his head down.

            “Just because I despise what this has done to me doesn’t mean it applies to you as well,” he said, keeping stubbornly to the subject. “Your condition is…”

            “It’s not a _condition._ It’s what I _am._ I’m a Conduit. That’s it, open and closed.”

            “We don’t even know what that really means. We don’t even really know why it _happens._ ”

            “Yeah we do, there’s a gene they isolated. There’s a rhyme and reason to it we just can’t grasp yet,” Newt said. “Like, you remember that shitstorm in New Marais…the mass die-off affected Conduits only. A _global_ mass die-off. An accelerated, instantaneous extinction event, and we bounced back anyway.”

            He was talking faster now, warming to his topic even though he still couldn’t look over at Gottlieb. The light pooled in his hands shimmered brightly, turning kaleidoscopic shades of blue and green.

            “ _Nature abhors a vacuum._ You heard that before, right? No matter what the circumstance, that remains the same. Nature fills absence because it needs to. For some reason it needs us. There was an absence in humanity that nature decided to fill with…with people like us.”

            “That sounds like the beginnings of a superiority complex to me,” Gottlieb said wryly. Newt grinned.

            “Maybe. I don’t go running around on buildings and zapping people to death, though.”

            “With your aim? You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.”

            “Wow. That’s _super_ rich coming from you. I’ve seen you throw things, you have the pitching arm of a three year old.”  

            “What on earth is that even supposed to _mean?_ ” Gottlieb asked, startled into honest laughter. “I wasn’t aware there was a toddler baseball league to compare against.”

            “You’d be surprised. We start ‘em young over here with the sports, all that point scoring and shit.”

            “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”         

            Newt grimaced, shaking his head mournfully.

            “Softball, tenth grade. Made it through one and a half practice sessions before I decided I didn’t hate myself enough to continue.”

            “Fared better than I would have.”

            “Nah. I bet you could’ve lasted at least three or four times before giving up.”

            Gottlieb smiled but it was oddly brittle, and it faded away.

            “I never was the athletic type. Even before…” he trailed off, gesturing at his leg and the cane resting between them. “All neither here nor there now anyway, is it.”

            “Yeah. Guess not.”

            Time ticked by slowly, marked by the faint drips of water and faraway sound of traffic on the street outside. It was cold; Gottlieb could feel the damp air settling in his chest. Newt was right in one respect at least – he never got sick. Tired, worn-out and exhausted, certainly. But never sick.

            “I’ll go out tomorrow,” Newt said eventually. “We’re out of food.”

            “I don’t want you stealing.”

            “I won’t get caught again.”

            “That’s not the point,” Gottlieb said. “I don’t want you _stealing,_ Newton. It’s….it’s beneath you.”

            Newt looked away, expression set stubbornly. His refusal to answer was an answer in itself, and Gottlieb glared at him.

            “Newton. _No._ ”

            “You have any better ideas?” Newt asked sharply. “Bad enough we’re squatting in a basement. I _know_ how shitty it is, alright? You think I don’t? And if I’m not thinking about how far down the shithole we are, _you_ chime in and remind me!”

            He suddenly drew back, wincing. Gottlieb stared at him and then dragged his hood over his head, pushing over to the furthest edge of the sheet and curling up on his side.

            “Hermann-”

            “ _No_.”

            The single flat word made Newt’s insides shrivel. He let the light dim and sat back against the cold cement wall, apologizing silently into the small hours of the night when he finally drifted off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

            Newt hated walking around alone. Without someone to play look-out over his shoulder at all times he felt hideously exposed, almost agoraphobic. He walked with his head down and hood pulled far over his face, trying to avoid eye contact – or any kind of contact, really. He wove through the traffic of the sidewalk sinuously, taking care not to brush against anyone or give any reason for them to notice him. Despite the anxiety he realized he was a little happy to be outside by himself for a moment; Gottlieb had given him the silent treatment that morning, still fuming over the argument the night before.

            Well, no. It hadn’t been an argument. Just two tired, miserable people sniping at each other for no good reason at all. Newt followed the flow of pedestrians across the street and over into the next block, eyes flicking up from the dull cracked cement to gauge where he was. He needed to find some place open, without risk of security cameras. Grocery and convenience stores were automatically out; keeping his head down and hood up invited attention outside the cameras and he had no wish to repeat the last experience of being mistaken for an armed robber.

            The streetlight poles every few feet were coated with flyers. Newt paused and quickly studied the freshest layer, picking through notices for lost pets and community events. Give him something…a soup kitchen, _anything._

            “Oh. Ohh, jackpot.”

            Newt pulled the gaudy pink flyer down, grinning. A farmers market; no cameras, enough people milling around that a few small thefts here and there would go unnoticed. Perfect. Newt studied the street address and hurried along the sidewalk, weighing the risks of asking for directions. He doubted the average person on the street rabidly followed D.U.P. wanted poster releases and escaped Conduit reports, and doubted even more anyone would recognize him offhand, but the paranoid sense of _what if_ was enough to deter him. It wasn’t a big deal. He’d just look around by himself.

            Half an hour later he was hopelessly turned around, realizing he was walking in a very wide circle. He scowled and pulled the flyer out again, squinting at street signs. A woman passing by brushed accidentally against his shoulder and he jolted as though she had hit him, stumbling forward. She turned to look at him, mouth opening and an apology half-spoken before she took a good look at him. Her eyes widened and she drew back; Newt felt a white haze of fear cloud his mind and dry his mouth and he took a step away from her. The woman said nothing, merely turning away and hurrying off. Newt wondered at it in relief and confusion, frowning.

            He started off walking again, passing by an office building with silvery opaque windows. He caught a brief glance at his reflection and then paused, studying himself dully. No wonder the woman had recoiled from him. He was clearly unwashed and unshaven, his hair a mess and his eyes shadowed. He appeared exactly like what he was: homeless, underfed and overtired.

            “Looking good, Doctor Geiszler,” he muttered to himself. He turned away from the reflection with a grimace and studied the street signs again. It took far longer than he was comfortable with to get on the right track, but eventually the lurid flyers grew more and more common, a bright pink breadcrumb trail towards a park crowded with tents and people. Newt hung back and stared at the crowd, nerves twisting in his gut. He’d expected a big turn-out, but this…this was ridiculous. It seemed like half of Denver was packed into the park, stepping over each other and schooling together in a mass of potential panic if a single person recognized him.

            Maybe he could just go find a donut shop and lurk around until the day’s rejected baking was tossed out. He’d done that a few times. Gottlieb always suspected where it came from but tried not to complain – they didn’t have the luxury of complaining. Very suddenly Newt’s vision went blurry; he blinked, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes hurriedly before anyone could notice the weird, dirty crying man hanging out in the shadows. Dumpster diving and squatting in basements…his life had unraveled so wholly into ruin it was breathtaking.

            Last year he had been in Boston. He had been safe within a life that made sense; safe and stable. No jumping at every shadow and agonizing over every glance that seemed to linger on him a second too long, no _hunger._ He looked down at his hands, fingers curling. His palms were dirty, grey dust from the basement floor seeming ingrained into the lines and standing out like scars. He rubbed them against his jeans to wipe the dirt off but it remained. He growled in frustration and stuck his hands in his pockets, staring out at the market. Fuck it. Fuck everything. If he got caught, he’d run. Not like he hadn’t done it before.

            He pushed through the crowd, tugging at his hood and daring to keep his gaze off the ground. Everything looked so good it was painful; they hadn’t eaten at all yesterday, and his only drink of water had been an icy, musty-tasting few mouthfuls from the basement’s mop sink. The smell of fresh bread as he passed a baker’s stall almost made him dizzy. He stopped, looking at the loaves and worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. It wouldn’t be too hard to sneak a few of the rolls under his coat…

            The crowd was parting and conversation was banking back into a restrained, uncomfortable buzz around him. Newt glanced over his shoulder briefly and then did a double-take, breath catching in his throat. Two fully armored and armed DUPs were walking through the park side by side, observing the crowd. The horrible sense of exposure sharpened painfully as they got closer to the baker’s stall. There was nothing urgent or tense about their pace or body language, nothing forced about the casual way they walked as the crowd parted in front of them. Everyone was pointedly ignoring them, trying to adopt the DUPs attitude. It was perfectly normal for two men in body armor and carrying automatic rifles to be walking through the park. Everything was as it was supposed to be.

            Newt wanted desperately to reach up and adjust his hood again but was terrified they would notice him for it. He edged closer to the baker’s stall, studying a loaf of rye bread with intense interest. If he didn’t acknowledge they were right behind him, they wouldn’t know he was there. He would pretend just like everyone else that they weren’t there and they would pass right by him.

            _Don’t let them see me. Don’t let them see me, please._

Newt bit his tongue, unsure if he had whispered the plea aloud or not. He flinched as he heard the static-ridden chatter of a voice on one of the DUP’s walkie talkies. The DUP clicked a button on the walkie twice; an all-clear signal, maybe. Newt held his breath as the DUPs walked by him, and after a minute the crowd closed up around the path they had cleared, conversation starting to pick up again. Newt’s heart was thudding so fast and hard he was sure it would bruise against his ribcage. There were pockets of uncomfortable muttering all around him, people looking where the DUPs had gone off to – including the woman behind the table. She was frowning fixedly in the DUPs’ direction, talking to a customer distractedly, unaware of Newt skulking nearby.

            A minute later he walked off with the loaf of rye bread and a bag of dinner rolls, quietly apologizing to the woman as he tried to walk away casually. Their meals would be pretty bland the next few days, but Newt felt unexpectedly light after such a terrifying close call. He wondered if he could get away with lifting a few pieces of fruit as well when he heard several raised voices. The crowd was suddenly pressing back against him and he shrank away, pushed towards a bordering stand of trees. There was a ring of people growing a few yards away, and Newt’s insides froze as he picked out another pair of DUPs. The park was infested with them like rats – on the far end there was an ATV, its auto-cannon pointing subtly towards the crowd.

            There was a man in standing in the cleared space as though he was rooted there, watching the DUPs as one examined his driver’s license. The DUP nodded in apparent satisfaction and handed the ID back; the man took it slowly even though it was clear he was regarding the DUP as a snake, unsure if it would strike out and bite him or not. The DUPs moved on and there was a susurrus of angry muttering; Newt leaned closer to the nearest conversation, trying not to be obvious in his eavesdropping.

            “-military occupation,” a woman was saying bitterly. Her friend nodded, staring hard at the DUPs as they disappeared out of view. “It’s insanity. A few broken windows and sinkholes and all of a sudden the city’s overrun with bio-terrorists?”

            “Those weren’t sinkholes,” her friend said. “You saw the photos before they were pulled, didn’t you?”

            “Pulled. _Censored_ , you mean. They’ve got the media collared so tight it’s strangling.”

            “I’m just saying,” he muttered. “Maybe they have a good reason for being here.”

            “Making us deal with a bunch of assholes with guns and concrete, there had _better_ be,” the woman said. “Random ID checks…what if that guy was flagged as suspicious? What if he ran? You think they’d hesitate to use the cannon on that truck?”

            Newt slipped out from the trees and walked as quickly as he dared back towards the park entrance. He had stayed far longer than he should have. He wanted to get back to the church and hide for a week. He resisted the urge to push past people, certain the DUPs were nearby and watching him. He just had to get back to the church. Just had to-

            Newt stopped dead, staring. Two armored figures were standing at either side the gate. There was a queue of people lined up in front of each guard, IDs at the ready. He hadn’t had a valid photo ID for months, not daring to keep it. Newt backtracked slowly, turning around and heading the opposite direction. The DUP uniforms were stationed at every exit. He was penned in.

            “You have got to be shitting me,” he whispered to himself, aimlessly furious. He had been in the park just under fifteen minutes and the DUPs had closed in on the place like crows on a corpse. “Okay. Okay. This is fine. This is not a big deal.”

            He could wait them out. Gottlieb would be furious but there was no other option. He’d find a bench and sit and pray nobody noticed him. He pulled off a chunk of bread from the rye loaf and nibbled on it, his mouth so dry he could hardly swallow. The queue lines were getting longer and longer, and over the course of an hour Newt watched the DUPs pull three people off the side when the ID scanners flashed a warning yellow. The flagged people looked angry and frightened as another guard led them off; Newt strained to see over the crowd for a suspicion pen, puzzled when he couldn’t see anything. The people were simply being led away…surely they weren’t going to _hurt_ them. Not in broad daylight. Not when they were cooperating.

            Newt sat back, glancing around again to the other exits. There were a few other people lingering around like he was; he studied them with dull curiosity. There was a man leaning against an oak in a far corner, gaze fixed on the DUP guards barely ten yards away from him. His expression was masklike, hands clenched in fists. Newt appreciated the open disdain he was showing, but if the guards noticed it they would give him no end of trouble. Their queue was the shortest, the scanners flashing green with each scan. Newt frowned, looking at the other queues; they were all flagging at least one yellow warning every twenty minutes.

            The man wasn’t watching the DUPs, Newt realized slowly. He was concentrating on their scanners. The things were vaguely like tablet computers in heavy protective cases, the scanners fastened to one side. The DUPs didn’t seem to notice their lines were passing through without trouble, going through the motions of scanning without real interest. Newt slid off the bench, creeping towards the man. There was an odd sound hissing through the air as Newt approached him - very much like the hiss of static.

            Newt gaped at the man, the words tumbling out unbidden.

            “You’re a Conduit.”

            The man jolted as though Newt had shouted, whipping around; his concentration broke and the scanners beeped loudly before going dead, shorted out. They stared at each other and the man suddenly bolted, pushing through the crowd. Newt followed right behind, all thought of trying to stay inconspicuous abandoned. The man climbed the park fence with startling ease and landed hard on the other side, ignoring the shouts of DUPs. Two were already running after him; Newt cursed himself, pulling himself up the fence and vaulting over it. He landed badly and rolled over the sidewalk and on to the street, pushing himself over the asphalt as a car swerved to avoid him. The DUPs were shouting at _him_ now, and he stumbled over and tripped trying to flee.

            There was a thud of boots on concrete coming towards him – and the concrete itself was suddenly moving, chips and pebbles lifting off the ground and forming threatening clouds. Newt stared at the concrete in growing horror and rolled to his feet again, pushing roughly past people and fleeing into the nearest alleyway. It was a dead end; he collided with the wall and his hands scrabbled against the bricks, panicking. The DUPs stood at the mouth of the alleyway and Newt stared at them, turning with his back pressed against the wall as they approached.

            “ _Hands where I can see them!”_

“Please,” Newt said frantically. “Please, you’re making a mistake. I’m not-”

            The ground roiled and shifted like water; one DUP had his gun raised but the other was seemingly unarmed. His fist was clenched tight and raised in front of him, body straining as though lifting terrible weight – he was one of the special troops, imbued with Conduit abilities. Newt pushed further back against the wall, shaking his head.

            “Please. _Please.”_

The concrete rose in waves and lapped at his feet; Newt fought back a choking wave of panic. If it caught him he was done – they’d cocoon him in the stuff, cart him off in an ATV and have him in suppression cuffs within the hour, shipping off to Curdon Cay – he’d never see the light of day again, locked away and forgotten-

            Newt bolted forward straight at the DUPs. The rifle fired but the aim went wild as Newt simply jumped _over_ the pair of them –            a wave of concrete followed him and he outran it, body seeming to shake apart from his very atoms and dissolving into a streak of light. It fled into the middle of the street and over cars, colliding head-on with truck and climbing effortlessly over the cab and onto the trailer. The road undulated and rose after it waves of spikes, molten concrete spitting rapidfire trying to bring it down.

            The truck swerved to avoid the incoming waves and jackknifed; the spears of concrete ran the trailer through and smashed in the front of the cab. The light streak did not so much jump from the truck as launch off it, crashing into a building and scaling it. It vaulted itself onto the roof and solidified; Newt rolled over the rooftop and collided with an air vent, banging his head hard against the corner. He hissed in pain and curled up in an agonized ball, shock thrumming through him. There were people screaming in the street below, and he could hear concrete shifting and rattling as the DUPs searched for him – there was a tremendous series of crashes as the concrete waves overturned and pushed cars out of the way, crushing metal and glass.

            Newt pushed himself up and immediately fell over again. His head was spinning from the impact and the transition from light to solid; he was almost giddy from dizziness, the world tilting crazily as he tried and failed to find his balance. He rolled over on to his back and stared at the sky, panting for breath. The crunching metal and glass was getting louder and he could hear DUPs shouting to one another; if he didn’t move he was going to be caught. They would find him and drag him off…

            The terror of capture wasn’t strong enough this time. He could hardly lift his head, let alone muster the energy to shift and flee. He lay there, sickened in defeat. Footsteps crunched over the rooftop and he screwed his eyes shut, unwilling to see a DUP concrete-slinger staring down at him.

            “I didn’t do anything,” he said, voice soft and bitter. “I didn’t _do_ anything.”

            “Bull- _shit_ you didn’t.”

            Newt gave a sharp yelp as he was hoisted up and dragged across the roof by the collar of his shirt; he stared at his captor with wide eyes.

            “You! You’re the-”

            “Oh my God, shut up! Shut _up!_ Holy shit, do you have any sense at all?”

            The Conduit from the park looked harassed and disheveled, but no worse for wear. He scowled at Newt but his expression was odd, twisting between anger and something closer to pity than Newt would have liked. Newt twisted in his grip but the man had a hold on him like a vise, pulling him along effortlessly.

            “I’m sorry,” he said, still trying to get free. “I didn’t – I didn’t think, I haven’t seen any other Co- any other people like us – like ME, not us, sorry, sorry-”

            “That lightshow of yours scramble your brain, brother?” the man asked, the pity in his expression winning out over the anger. Newt made an uncertain sound.

            “I crashed into a truck.”

            “That flipped over and catapulted you. Yeah, I saw that. You think you can do the shooting star trick again?”

            “No. No. Too screwed up, too tired-”

            “Okay. Okay, that’s fine. Don’t worry. But you gotta shut up for a couple minutes, okay? I need you to follow me and I need you to keep your head _down._ Got it?”

            “Yeah. Yeah, I got it.”

            The man looked over the edge of the building before climbing over and dropping down on to the fire escape ten feet below. Newt followed unthinkingly, and when he landed his legs buckled. The man caught him and helped him upright again, guiding him the rest of the way down the fire escape. It was an arduous climb and Newt felt ready to drop to the ground and die by the time he stumbled off the ladder, leaning against the building and trying to force the dizziness away by sheer willpower. The man fixed his hood over his head and pulled him along, dodging through the tight alleyway and into the next street.

            “Just a bit further, okay?”

            “Why are you helping me?”

            “Ha. That’s…that is a really good question, isn’t it.”

            Newt followed the man obediently even though his legs felt like lead. The shift from solid to light and back again was always disorienting – he always felt heavy and slow after such effortless, breakneck speed. The effort of it had drained him completely and the need to recharge was so severe it was almost painful.

            “I can’t go any further.”

            “You have to. We’re almost clear.”

            “They’ll catch us.”

            “Shh…”

            It felt as though they had been walking for hours. Newt slid to the ground in relief as they slipped into another alleyway, ducking behind a dumpster. The sickly sweet reek of rotting garbage revived Newt a little and he edged away from the dumpster, repulsed. The man was peering around the side of the dumpster out into the street, brow furrowed.

            “Are they following?”

            “No…too busy ripping that other street to shreds. One of the cars they crushed caught fire, they’re gonna be dealing with that mess for a while.”

            Newt groaned miserably, curling up against the dumpster with his knees up to his chest, resting his head down against them.

            “Oh my God. I go out for food and blow up a street.”

            “Technically _they_ blew up the street. Each one of those freaks is a one-man wrecking crew.”

            “I’m sorry,” Newt said, looking up at the man. “This is all my fault. I’m _sorry._ ”

            “It’s as much their fault as it is yours,” the man said reasonably. “And mine. I shouldn’t have run. Kneejerk reaction, you know?”

            “What were you doing, anyway? How were you screwing around with their stuff?”

            “The mobile scanners are new tech. I needed the practice.”

            “So you can manipulate electronics…”

            “Not quite,” the man said. He sat down beside Newt, looking around the corner of the dumpster from time to time to keep watch. “Digital energy. Computers, that kind of stuff.”

            “That’s incredible,” Newt said. The man grinned wryly.

            “It has its good points.”

            He looked Newt over, frowning again.

            “You’ve been through the wringer a couple times, huh?”

            “That obvious?” Newt asked dully. He suddenly sat up straight, looking around anxiously. “No…no, no! Shit!”

            “What? What’s the matter?”

            “The _bread,_ ” Newt groaned. “I lost the fucking bread.”

            The man laughed, patting Newt’s shoulder sympathetically.

            “Before or _after_ you crashed into the truck? Try to keep stuff in perspective, brother.”

            “Yeah. Yeah, I guess…” the words trailed off into a disgusted sigh. Newt looked over at the man and stuck his hand out. “Newt Geiszler. Lord and emperor of fuck-ups.”

            The man grinned and took Newt’s hand, giving it a firm shake.

            “Tendo Choi. Pleased to meet you, your highness.”

            Newt smiled faintly, settling back against the dumpster and hugging his arms around his knees. There was a distant wail of ATVs and fire engines, and the smile faltered.

            “Hermann is gonna _kill_ me.”


	5. Chapter 5

Gottlieb woke up with a start.

            It took a moment to orient himself, looking around the dark, almost cave-like space and trying to comprehend where he was. He sat up stiffly and winced at the pain in his back and neck; he had fallen asleep tangled up in his parka with only the thin sheet for bedding. He grasped blindly in the murky half light for his cane and hoisted himself to his feet, feeling a hundred years old. He was hungry. Horrendously so.  He limped to the janitor’s closet and fumbled with the mop sink faucet, gulping down water from his cupped hands. It tasted metallic and musty and only seemed to sharpen the hunger that made his insides ache.

            It was with slow-dawning realization that he realized how quiet it was in the basement. He had fallen asleep waiting for Newt to come back, hunger-induced exhaustion getting the better of him. He had no idea how much time had passed; it _felt_ late in the day, somehow. Gottlieb limped back to the sheet and eased himself back down to sit, forcing himself to ignore the growing sense of uneasiness. How long has he been asleep? How long had Newt been gone?

            The hunger gnawed at him. Gottlieb leaned forward with his arms wrapped around his stomach, feeling ill. His body shook and the cold of the floor seemed to be leaching into him, settling in his bones.

            “I’ll just be gone for an hour,” he muttered sourly to himself, mimicking Newt’s brush-off before he’d set off to God-knew-where that morning. “Just sit tight.”

            The shivering grew slightly worse. Gottlieb felt almost feverish within the chill, his skin damp with sweat and his head stuffed full of cotton. He and Newt had never been without food to the point of starvation, but they had skirted it more times than Gottlieb cared to think on. He got up again, the hunger driving him past principles of politeness; they were in a church, so perhaps there _were_ a packet or two of communion wafers lying around. Just enough to take the edge off…if there truly was a God watching and judging, surely he would have some mercy for a new breed of leper in desperate straits.

            Gottlieb walked unsteadily through the basement, clutching at his cane to keep himself from keeling over. The cold fever made his hands shake like an old man’s as he rooted through box after box, growing more frustrated when he found nothing but altar cloths or hymn books.

            “Suppose it’s for the best,” he muttered. His voice sounded weaker than he had expected. “Don’t need another sin adding onto the list, do I?”

            He leaned against the stacked boxes to rest for a moment, head bowed down and eyes closing. He was tired…so tired. And where the _hell_ had Newt gone? What if he had been _caught?_ Gottlieb should have gone with him. He shouldn’t have trusted Newt to be responsible enough to wander through an unknown city and not get himself into horrific amounts of trouble. Disaster _followed_ Newton Geiszler; it was his shadow, wreaking havoc wherever he went. The man had literally detonated in his own lab at MIT…Gottlieb leaned forward and clutched at the boxes to keep himself upright, anxiety and fever weakening him further.

            It had been too long since Newt left. He had been caught. That had to be the only explanation; he would never leave Gottlieb alone for so long on purpose. All they had was each other.

            The air, already thick with dust, seemed to grow thicker still. Gottlieb bowed his head down and took in long breaths to try and calm his juddering heartbeat and the dust stuck to his throat and clogged into his sinuses, making him cough. The cold fever was abating, strangely…the razor sharp hunger easing off. Gottlieb opened his eyes as the chill was replaced with a comforting sense of warmth, some deep part of himself finally being nourished.

            The hymn books in the box had been reduced to dust and pulp, and there was a coating of it on Gottlieb’s hands like a badge of accusation. He recoiled from the box and staggered back, revolted. He’d fed like a parasite, and the sickness in him had been sated. He didn’t even feel physically hungry anymore. Gottlieb made a sound of frustration and spun away, hobbling far less stiffly out of the room. There was no way to purge it except to deplete the stored paper… _whatever_ he reduced it to. He would have to use his condition until it was tapped out and restart the cycle of deprivation all over again. A moment of weakness had undone weeks of fasting.

            He tried to wash the dust off his hands, on the verge of tears as it simply absorbed into his skin. He wished the fever would come back. He wished Newt were there, someone literally unstable down to the atoms but still the anchor against the terrible panic that threatened to overwhelm Gottlieb at a moment’s notice; he sat down on the sheet again and buried his face in his hands, trying to control his breathing. If he panicked now he would come apart. His body would _actually_ come apart. He could already feel it starting, a hollowness spreading in his chest as his skin began to crackle, his solid form dissolving into scraps and shreds of paper.

            “No,” he whispered. His voice was dry and rattling. “No, no.”

            His body was light and empty and falling apart. Gottlieb pushed back against the wall with a strangled sound, trying to find something to hold onto. It didn’t hurt. His body was coming apart and it didn’t _hurt_ – what kind of monster was he, to be able to survive such an impossible transformation? What _was_ he?

            The panic surged and Gottlieb fell apart completely. Newt had always said he looked like a dust devil when he shifted shape, a miniature whirlwind where a person had been. It spun wildly and slammed against the far opposite wall, upsetting stacks of boxes and overturning several large altar candleholders. The metal holders slammed to the ground with loud, alarming _clangs_ ; the whirlwind gave a thin, ripping cry and reformed in a heap on the floor. Gottlieb lay there with his arms over his head, gasping. He was terrified to move; if he moved, surely he would come apart and the horror would start all over again.

            “Please. Please,” he whispered to himself. Stay together. Stay calm. Newt would come back and help him and this would be gone some day, this unnatural nightmare this _disease-_

            The door to the basement swung open, the lights flicking on.

            “Who’s down there?”

            Gottlieb clapped a hand to his mouth, eyes wide as he looked around the basement; his shift had thrown the entire room into absolute disarray. Of course someone would have heard. He pushed himself up, survival instinct overpowering his panic as slow, uncertain footsteps crept down the stairs one at a time. It had been an old, quavering voice that called out; one of the priests, maybe? Gottlieb pushed himself up and limped shakily back to the corner where he had left his cane and bag.

            “Is someone there?”

            His body was becoming hollow again. Gottlieb staggered back and left tiny scraps of paper-self behind, his breath whistling through disintegrating lungs. The priest peered into the basement from the foot of the stairs, shocked at the mess.

            “Come out. We all heard you.”

            We? Oh, no. _No_. One person was bad enough. Maybe he was bluffing. Gottlieb slunk into the shadows of the far back rooms, clutching at his cane. Things he touched when he shifted went right along with him; some other inexplicable quirk of his condition he could never figure out. By all rights his clothes shouldn’t have broken apart along with flesh, blood and bone, and yet…

            There was a vent in the ceiling; Gottlieb looked up at it with eyes that were fracturing into tissue paper. The priest was creeping close - he was old, utterly harmless. Seeing Gottlieb in his diseased state would probably scare the poor man to death. Fraught with shame but desperate not to be caught, Gottlieb let the hollowness win. His body broke apart into numberless scraps and shreds, maintaining better control now that he wasn’t in a state of blind panic. Gottlieb pushed upwards, directing the whirlwind of his self through the thin grates of the vent. The priest poked his head into the room a moment later, seeing nothing out of the ordinary but a few stray scraps of paper laying abandoned on the floor.

 

\--

            Newt stuffed a handful of French fries into his mouth, barely chewing as he shoveled the food down as fast as he could. Tendo at across from him watching with a mix of amusement and mild disgust, shaking his head.

            “You’re gonna make yourself sick.”

            “Mmh.”

            “When was the last time you ate anything? And…please, swallow before you answer.”

            Newt gave an exaggerated gulp, washing the fries down with a slurp of soda.

            “Solid food, not for like…three days. But there was the sweetest lamp down in that basement, dude. I shit you not. Hermann’s always saying stuff like ‘ _Newton, light is nothing but photons, they do not have FLAVORS’_ , but I swear there is. That light was like sugar.”

            “Seems like just the kind of stuff you need,” Tendo said dryly. “A light Conduit hopped up on high fructose photons.”

            “Yeah, well. Digital energy is technically just _pure_ energy, okay? We’re within the same class.”

            “Maybe.”

            “Probably,” Newt said cheerfully. He finished off the fries and moved onto the second hamburger Tendo had bought for him, biting into it with relish. The fast food restaurant was at the tail-end of the dinner rush, and their corner was isolated enough from the rest of the customers that Tendo and Newt were safe to talk. Newt’s bag was stuffed with another bag of hamburgers and fries for Hermann; he had attempted to call Hermann’s trac phone to no avail, figuring its batteries were dead.

            “So. Tell me more about Hermann,” Tendo said. “You kinda started to before the food was ready.”

            “He’s my friend,” Newt said between bites of hamburger. “Most stuffed-up professor stereotype you ever saw. Can talk about math for hours on end without stopping for breath.”

            “Sounds…engaging.”

            “You’d be surprised. He’s a good guy.”

            Newt paused mid-bite, frowning at his burger and setting it down.

            “He’ll be pissed off at me for this, though. I told him I wouldn’t be gone long…it’s been hours.”

            Tendo checked his watch, nodding.

            “I’ll vouch for you. I stick with you guys tonight and we can all head out by tomorrow morning.”

            Newt felt his appetite wane; he sat back, frowning at Tendo. It all seemed too good to be true…Conduits in groups was an invitation for disaster. Hell, one by themselves was enough to level a building if they wanted.

            “Look…” Tendo watched him attentively, which made Newt more uncomfortable. “Look. You don’t know how grateful I am for the help getting away from that clusterfuck. But…”

            “You don’t trust me,” Tendo said. Newt winced, but nodded.

            “I swear to God it’s nothing against you. I…I don’t really trust anybody.”

            “Except for Hermann?”

            “That’s different.”

            Tendo sighed, picking at his food for a moment.

            “I don’t blame you for being skittish,” he said. “Anyone in your position would be. You’ve been through way too much trying to find a safe haven for this long. But I promise you…I want to help. It’s my job.”

            “Why?”

            “Because it’s the right thing to do. The people I work with…I swear, Newt. I _swear._ They’re the good guys.”

            Newt bit at his lower lip, avoiding Tendo’s gaze as he stared down at the tabletop. He was so _tired_ of being scared and mistrusting of everyone who looked at him. Tendo had offered him and Hermann an out but hadn’t pushed it as though it were an ultimatum. He truly did seem like he wanted to help.

            “Your bosses,” he said finally. “Are they Conduits too?”

            “Yes.”

            “And they’ve helped out others like me before?”

            “They have.”

            “How many?”

            “Dozens. I was one of them.”

            Newt looked up in surprise.

            “Really?”

            “Really. “

            “You could’ve escaped. You’re selling this like it’s a Conduit underground.”

            Tendo grinned slightly.

            “It is. All the more reason for me to stick around…my power is on the rare end of the spectrum. The stuff I can do? It _helps._ I can’t just take off in good conscience knowing I could contribute and keep people out of Curdon Cay.”

            Newt was silent for a long few moments, biting hard at his lip. It was a risk. A huge, terrifying risk. But Tendo had helped him before…who was to say he wasn’t really as he said he was?

            “Okay,” Newt said eventually. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back. Sorry for the delay!


End file.
